


Tutoring

by luckthebard (wbh)



Category: Critical Role (Web Series)
Genre: Caleb is not nice to himself about his own mental illness, Dissociation, Gen, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, internalized ableism
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-05-13
Updated: 2019-05-13
Packaged: 2020-03-02 20:11:04
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,163
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18818143
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/wbh/pseuds/luckthebard
Summary: Essek visits the Xhorhaus again to teach Caleb more dunamancy. Unfortunately, Caleb can only endure so much formal arcane teaching before the memory of his last formal training gets in the way.(Inspired by my own musings on what would happen if formal arcane teaching triggered Caleb the way fire did. "You continue to copy the spells, while Essek watches and occasionally corrects you. Make a wisdom saving throw.")





	Tutoring

“-trying my patience. I am granting you a boon, do you really mean to antagonize me?”

Caleb blinked, suddenly aware of the agitated voice. Speaking to him? He struggled to orient himself, to remember where he was and what he’d been doing. Nothing was on fire, which was odd. Normally, when he wretched himself back to awareness out of this blank numbness, he came back to the smell of death and burning. But all he smelled now was the faint scent of whatever Caduceus was making for the evening meal, wafting through the house and into the library.

The library. Where he had been sitting at his desk, copying dunamany spells under Essek Thelyss’s watchful eyes. But Caleb wasn’t facing his desk or his spellbook anymore. His chair had been moved, and he was facing out into the room, eyes focused on the dark elf’s shapeless robes. He tried to adjust his vision, to focus and more clearly see the agitated frown on the Shadowhand’s face, just visible out of the corner of his eye. A dark purple hand shot toward him suddenly, and Essek's fingers tangled in his hair.

“Or are you trying to sneak Divination in under my nose? Cast spells to spy on my people while I’m watching?” Essek's voice hardened as he tightened his grip on Caleb’s hair.

Caleb struggled to stay in the moment, the panic of trying to discern what had upset his drow guest almost pulling his consciousness sideways and back into the comforting blankness of one of his episodes. He focused on the pain building in his scalp, trying to ground himself in the present and the worsening situation he’d found himself in.

Essek pulled on Caleb’s hair, forcing his head back and making Caleb look into his face instead of where his gaze had been settled on the elf’s chest. “Do you truly believe me that foolish and unobservant? Or do you simply like playing with fire?”

Caleb swallowed. It was always harder for him to make eye contact when he returned from drifting away like this, but he forced himself to look directly into Essek's dark eyes. “Nein..uh no, I was not...doing anything...like that,” Caleb managed to force out. He turned his hands palm up where they rested on the arms of the desk chair, trying to look as harmless as possible. He was starting to piece together what had happened. Nott had described this broken, crazy part of him as him ‘fading away,’ to outside appearances. Clearly, Essek had not had as charitable an interpretation.

“I am sorry, I…” Caleb struggled to find a way to explain to Essek what had happened. Did he dare reveal to the Shadowhand of Leylas Kryn herself what kind of madman he was? Would Essek believe him if he did? “I forgot where I was, for a moment. I am not...casting magic. This reminded me of something, and it...it was a bad memory. My apologies.”

Surely that wouldn’t be enough. Caleb hadn’t really even been remembering anything specific. His ever keen mind had shut him out of his surroundings before a true memory had had the chance to form. It had just been something about the atmosphere in the room. About Essek standing over him, judging his penmanship and magical efforts. It had drifted too close to a similar set-up, years ago, in a cottage in the countryside outside Rexxentrum. Where Trent Ikithon stood by, ready to critique any error made by a young Bren Ermendrud.

But Caleb wasn't Bren anymore and Caleb wasn't there now. Caleb struggled to ground himself further, desperate to pacify Essek. To get out of this room without shattering his fragile connection to learning this strange new Kryn magic. He focused on the hard chair underneath him, and the faint sounds of Jester playing with her blink dog upstairs. He held Essek's gaze, trying to communicate his sincerity. _I may be crazy, but I’m telling the truth_ , he thought, frantic.

Essek's eyes narrowed. He tilted his head, considering Caleb’s explanation. “Lost in a memory, you say? And where you were...where your mind went, that was worse than here? Worse for a human of the Dwendalian Empire than sitting in the heart of Rosohna, at the mercy of one of the Kryn Dynasty’s most powerful mages?”

Caleb must be recovering, because he had the presence of mind to scoff internally at Essek's relentless arrogance. He wasn’t self-destructive enough to give in to the urge to roll his eyes though. “Yes,” he answered, entirely honestly. “Here is...better. For me.”

“Hmph.” Essek let go of Caleb’s hair, and took a step back, but his short exhale did not tell Caleb anything about his thoughts, and his face was hard to read. “Can you continue?” he asked, seemingly and suddenly willing to move on and let the whole thing drop. “Or should we meet another day?”

Caleb breathed a sigh of relief, slumping in the chair now that Essek was no longer looming over him. But he struggled to answer quickly, discomforted by the swift turn of Essek's mood. “Um, ja...I mean, I can continue, I think. I would like to finish this today, if you do not mind.” Caleb risked a glance at Essek out of the corner of his eye, but the elf just nodded, and gestured toward the desk where their two spellbooks still sat, opened and ready for transcription. Caleb turned the chair back to the desk, slowly, trying not to make any sudden movements. He took a deep breath and exhaled, trying to focus on spellcraft and not on wondering what Essek was thinking.

After a view minutes, Essek spoke. He’d moved from his previous position behind Caleb, and was no longer looking over his shoulder. He was now sitting on the spare chair, in Caleb’s line-of-sight. “I have heard some strange things about the Empire,” he said. Caleb did not look up from his spellbook. He focused on the line of the glyph he was copying. It had to be just so, or the spell would not work.

“I have heard, for instance,” Essek continued, unbothered by Caleb’s lack of response, “that the Dwendalians are cruel to their citizens. That those who deviate from the will of the rulers are punished. That they harm even their own soldiers, to force them to obey.”

Caleb shifted his attention to the next glyph. This one would be more difficult. The lines were an odd mix of what he knew of transmutive and divination magicks. It would take all of his attention and skill to get it right. He did not look at Essek.

“Hmph.” Essek made that sound again, that infuriating and neutral noise that told Caleb nothing. Essek crossed his legs, and leaned back in the chair.

Caleb completed the rest of the transcription in silence. Essek took his leave with a small smile, and did not demand a favor in return.


End file.
